


Small Exceptions

by delta_capricorni



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Post-War, Support Conversation Rewrite (Fire Emblem)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25862857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delta_capricorni/pseuds/delta_capricorni
Summary: “Where are you headed, this late at night?”“Do me a favor and mind your own, won’t you?”“Let me go with you.”[post-war fluff x yurileth support rewrite]
Relationships: Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Small Exceptions

**Author's Note:**

> written for yuri's birthday! i also figured for this i'd take a step back from our-world-esque AUs lmao.
> 
> (also, i only found out "Leclerc" is pronounced "luh-claire" v recently... i've been saying "le-clerk" rip)  
> (also also, i literally can't spell 'monastery' i had to get it autocorrected like 39473251038 times double rip me)

Yuri watched his beloved fretting about from his perch on the windowsill, his lavender hair and pale skin bathed in the ethereal rainbow hues of moonlight filtering in through the stained glass. The summer night breathed a lightly chilled breeze into their shared bedroom, slipping past the translucent curtains.

Though Byleth had certainly opened up to a variety of emotions and corresponding facial expressions over the years, still any behavior that didn’t resonate with coolness or deliberation was out of the ordinary. Yet here they were: Yuri, mildly bored from watching Byleth pace to and fro in search of… something, he wasn’t sure; and Byleth, sifting hurriedly through official documents and regal clothing, flipping over pillows and blankets, feeling along floors and windowsills without discrimination.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Yuri finally felt the need to ask. “Have you lost something?”

“Yes,” he answered tersely, followed by more searching.

Yuri struggled to recall any important meetings or holidays that might necessitate such a frenetic hunt. They’d met with the former archbishop just earlier today about the state of Abyss, after which he’d procured all the meeting notes for his own copyediting, and Byleth’s yearly reunion with the sovereign king was not for another several months. What could possibly be the matter then…?

Just as Yuri was about to make some snarky quip about losing his mind, Byleth stood up suddenly, as if recalling what exactly he was even in pursuit of. He grabbed the nearest traveling cloak and began heading for the door.

“Where are you headed, this late at night?” Yuri called after him, leaping to his feet.

When Byleth turned around he said nothing, but he displayed the tiniest of smiles. A wave of calm washed over Yuri, but his instincts told him something in that smile was hiding, teasing something.

“Let me go with you.”

Byleth nodded and, holding the door open, swept a hand toward the exit in a gesture that both beckoned for Yuri and signaled, _After you_.

-

“Where are you headed, this late at night?”

“Do me a favor and mind your own, won’t you?”

“Let me go with you.”

That was how Yuri found himself tracking down the underling who’d betrayed him for the Scorpions, but now with a relatively high-profile mercenary-turned-professor in tow. Rationally Yuri could not doubt Byleth’s battling and strategic prowess. Yet as the man behind him stumbled a nonzero amount of times over stone walls and past unruly bushes, Yuri had to wonder if they were, in fact, fucked.

Putting that reassuring thought aside, Yuri made his way through the central marketplace, weaving effortlessly through the customers and hawkers of the night market without checking to see if his professor could keep up. He supposed that mercenaries were less assassins or gangsters and more readymade combat warriors, which would explain Byleth’s lack of dexterity yet immense strength and speed. To be on the safe side, Yuri had requested Byleth leave behind his rather ungainly Sword of the Creator—he had no idea how Byleth could stand to lug that whole assemblage around the battlefield like it was nothing more than an eerily glowing fruit knife—but now he wondered if the dagger he’d lent would suffice if things really went downhill.

A hand grabbed his shoulder. “Yuri.”

Yuri nearly leapt straight up into the air in surprise. But it was only Byleth, and not the least bit out of breath. There were a few villagers gawking at him for having plowed through them without a second thought, which made Yuri more annoyed than nervous about staying stealthy.

But then Byleth pointed with his chin toward a small gathering of people in a nearby field, an ambiguous geography that described the contact point between the outskirts of the monastery and the beginning of the lawless zone. Yuri hadn’t even noticed until Byleth pointed them out, fixated as he was on locating the Scorpions in some tavern or brothel. Grudgingly he admitted to himself that perhaps Byleth was at least of a little use.

“Shall we join the party, then?” he inquired coolly. “Looks like we’re fashionably late—so, right on time.”

Byleth gave him a quizzical look, then nodded, one hand securing the position of his dagger. Yuri decided rather impulsively to abandon the original plan of sneaking up and instead began heading straight toward the group. Thus the two mismatched men boldly strode into the field, ready to make a scene.

-

“Well, well, well! What do we have here?” Yuri loudly proclaimed, hoping to cover his excitement and curiosity with his more trademark arrogance.

“Yurikins, how good of you to join us!” Dorothea cooed, swishing the ruffles of her vermillion dress as she raced over to greet him. “We’re almost ready; just give us a few more minutes to finish up our makeup.”

Yuri stepped back and took in the sight of the makeshift stage, clearly only a temporary feature of the field yet sturdily built out of the finest Almyran pinewood. He hoped to himself that the wood would be rebuilt into something honorable, rather than incinerated or sent away on some river out of laziness.

Byleth was already sitting—of course he was sitting on the ground, instead of one of the chairs obviously borrowed from the Garreg Mach classrooms. Yuri smirked, totally unsurprised, and dragged two such chairs over to Byleth, who gladly accepted the seat. They both leaned back and stared up into the night sky. The torches that illuminated the stage made it a bit difficult to pick out their favorite constellations, but it was a fantastic background to whatever was going on nonetheless.

Yuri could make out some of his former housemates shuffling around onstage—Balthus, Constance, Hapi… wait, was that Bernadetta crouching, or cowering rather, behind the stage curtains? And… Ingrid, holding a pair of lances?

“Care to explain?” Yuri nodded at the stage.

Byleth responded by holding his hand, letting their hands hang in between their seats. “You’ll see.”

Right on cue, the makeshift curtains parted—indeed, it was Bernie pulling the literal ropes, and Yuri couldn’t hide his smile as the other Wolves scattered, caught off-guard by the drawing of the curtains.

Dorothea stood alone at stage center, with light magic from offstage illuminating her visage.

From her lips a beautiful melody spilled forth:

_Tonight we come to celebrate  
The Underground’s most bravest Lord  
He came to us through luck and fate  
And stayed to be our Savior’s Sword  
For none could ever be compared  
To Yuri, heir to House Leclerc!_

“I don’t belong to property-holding nobility,” Yuri grumbled.

Byleth elbowed him jovially. “It was for the meter of the poem.”

“Does this story have a plot?”

“Shhh, this is an Arnault Opera Production! Have you no manners?”

“What, this, going up for show in Enbarr? I highly doubt it’ll make it past Nuvelle.”

After a couple more verses Dorothea bowed, to Byleth’s standing ovation. First the agitated searching in the bedroom, now this overenthusiastic display of applause? Something was going on…

In Dorothea’s place, Ingrid stepped out bearing Lúin. The lance seemed to glow in anticipation, having had very little occasion for public appearances since the war ended.

“I come bearing gifts of a bountiful harvest from the lands of House Daphnel!” she shouted to the field.

Behind her another curtain lifted to reveal a feast: meats, fishes, vegetables, pastries, desserts, in every style imaginable from across the continent. Yuri gaped at the food, steam still rising from the hot dishes. From behind the banquet table popped up Blue Lions he hadn’t seen in at least a year, all of whom undoubtedly helped with the food preparation. Hapi also waved at him, wearing a wide grin.

“I… umm… hi, Yuri, uh…” Bernie was now fully in the spotlight, herself carrying a silver lance, but any words she might’ve uttered was drowned out by her own nervousness.

Dorothea stage-whispered, “Read the script! You wrote the damn script, Bernadetta!”

“Oh, right, um. Hello!” she attempted, voice cracking. Yuri stifled a laugh of understanding. “I come with, um, good fortune and well-wishes, symbolized by this quilt of a-amity and peace!”

And the remnants of the Black Eagles strode onstage, bearing a large quilt that Yuri immediately recognized was tailor-made to cover his and Byleth’s bed. Yuri glanced at the man beside him, only to find Byleth himself blushing—a rare sight indeed. Closer examination of the quilt revealed that each patch, though sewed together into the final product by Bernie, was designed by each Black Eagle, as well as one from Constance, who called out a little “he-LLO!” from one corner of the quilt. Her patch was an extremely detailed rendering of the Ashen Wolf prowling over the moon, its back arched against a backdrop of the four crests of its corresponding students. It must’ve taken her ages, Yuri thought, for although she was adept with handling potions, a needle and thread were alien to her delicate fingers.

Lastly, Balthus strutted forward, chest puffed out and walking with a ridiculous swagger. “Yo, Yuri!” he boomed, startling everyone else on stage. “I’d give back all the money I owe ya, except I didn’t feel like building an extra ninety-nine stages to hold it all. Plus I spent it all on… you guessed it: booze!”

With that the Golden Deer burst forth from all sides of the stage, each carrying two or more bottles of every type of alcohol imaginable. And—Yuri couldn’t believe it—even the young King of Almyra made his appearance, bearing two flasks of the strongest, most aged liquor his nation had to offer. While Claude obviously had unlimited access to more than his fair share of Almyra’s alcohol stores, Yuri could only shake his head at the national pseudo-treasures, in addition to the diverse varietals of Fódlanese spirits and wines, now being presented to him.

Suddenly Yuri felt himself being lifted off the ground, tucked into a princess-carry in Byleth’s arms. “What the hell are you—” he began, only to be raised onto the stage and into the hands of Balthus, Constance, and Hapi. Claude extended a hand to Byleth, lifting him up behind Yuri.

“Don’t fuggedabout us!” a voice yelled from offstage. Turning to appraise the speaker, Yuri was shocked, then delighted, to find the Abysskeeper and his wife, as well as many of the more permanent denizens of Abyss, gathered around the stage. “Surely there’s enough food to go around for all of us, eh?”

“Of course,” Yuri answered automatically, but the surface dwellers all nodded as well. “But why… what is everyone doing here? Am I missing something?”

Byleth stepped forward and pulled Yuri into a tight hug. Surrounding them on all sides were former classmates and citizens, current friends and chosen family.

“Did you really forget, love?” Byleth whispered. “You silly bird. We’re here because it’s your birthday.”

-

Standing with their backs pressed against each other, Yuri and Byleth appraised the ring of gangsters encircling them. The moon cast its rays upon the scorpions tattooed onto their biceps. The goon in question had a tattoo still inflamed with recency, the sight of which made Yuri seethe with fiery anger.

The Scorpions had been anticipating their arrival, as it turned out; as soon as Byleth accidentally stepped on some twig or another (damn his large, clumsy, mercenary physique) they’d surrounded the pair, rendering Yuri’s carefully prepared comments, intended to throw them off their guards, rather useless.

“Thought ya could catch me by surprise, huh? Look a’ youse now, outnumbered twelve to two,” the goon cackled, swinging the ball and chain that Yuri had personally trained him to wield just a year or so prior. Yuri felt Byleth tense behind him, recognizing the prelude to a fight. “Nice of you to bring a friend to witness your death!”

He swung his weapon forward, and just as Yuri was about to duck and aim for the stomach, he saw out of the corner of his eye Byleth thrust his dagger upward into the line of attack. The chain wrapped itself around the dagger, and effortlessly Byleth tossed the ball away from the two of them and onto the ground. As the chain slipped off Byleth’s blade and fell limp onto the earth, the goon froze in his tracks.

The eleven others advanced upon the pair, however, brandishing weapons of all shapes and sizes.

“I’m at your command,” Byleth murmured, leaning into Yuri as if reassuring him of his presence.

In that moment something changed within Yuri. This storied professor and professional mercenary, with countless more hours of direct combat experience than Yuri had with his furtive assassinations, someone he’d blown off time and again as he investigated the Abyss or wandered the monastery alone, was ceding control of the situation to Yuri. Byleth was trusting him completely with his life.

“I’ll just say two things,” he whispered back. “One, I regret asking you to leave behind your gargantuan gross Sword, because I’d bet you could totally sic ‘em all with one slash of that humongous thing. Two…”

When he understood the instructions Byleth reached over and gave Yuri’s hand a gentle squeeze. Years later Yuri would still tell himself that it was only because Byleth knew Yuri wouldn’t be able to see him nod. But in that action Yuri learned that he had not only a respectable ally, but also a reliable friend.

“Go!”

Yuri dropped to the ground and dealt a roundhouse kick to the ankles of the semicircle of gangsters facing him, tripping them and allowing Byleth to leap over him and slice open the nearest vital arteries. Behind the two, the other half of the circle all leapt in an uncoordinated attack toward Yuri, who in turn nimbly danced backward and jabbed his dagger into their limbs as they slashed at him. Reeling in pain, they staggered in all directions, buying time for Byleth to rebound in easy pursuit and finish them off.

Suddenly a shadow appeared in front of Yuri—his goon, brandishing a steak knife.

“Yuri!”

Byleth shielded him from the blade with his much sturdier frame. Yuri stared only for a moment at the knife, emergent from Byleth’s back like a wretched monument, before grabbing onto Byleth’s shoulder for support and propelling himself forward to stab his former underling in the stomach. With one foot he kicked the goon off his dagger and, with his hand still on Byleth’s body, angled themselves both away to avoid the shower of guts and blood spewing forth. Then they collapsed together onto the ground.

After a moment, Byleth gasped out, “Some party that was.”

It took a moment for Yuri to realize that the heavy breathing was not Byleth’s due to pain, but in fact his own, from the exertion and shock.

“Professor! B-Byleth!” Yuri nearly shouted, scrambling to his feet to examine the wound. But Byleth pulled on his hand and brought him to a sitting position on the ground. Even though Byleth was lying on his side and bleeding out from his back, his grip was strong, steadfast, calming Yuri’s racing nerves.

And instead of pointing out his injury or wondering aloud how to clean up after the gangsters, as Yuri probably would have to him, Byleth only mustered a tender smile and asked one question.

“Are you alright, Yuri?”

-

Released from Byleth’s embrace, Yuri took a moment to wipe his eyes, taking care not to smudge his own eyeshadow. “Yeah,” he finally affirmed, to the cheers of his friends and family.

So the festivities commenced: people all around singing, eating, drinking, laughing, drunkenly stargazing, striding over to Yuri and slinging an arm around his shoulders and wishing him all the well-wishes.

After at least an hour of guests jostling for Yuri’s time, some making repeat pilgrimages to the man of honor, Yuri finally was able to sidle over to Byleth, who for the most part had been sitting quietly off to one side, speaking with his former students when they came up to greet him but otherwise remaining a beacon of tranquility for Yuri.

Yuri dragged a chair over to him. “What was earlier all about then?”

“Earlier? Oh, you mean when I was turning our whole room upside down in search of something? That was just a ruse to pique your curiosity. I knew it’d be awkward if I’d just asked you on a… a date,” here Byleth cleared his throat, “and so I figured instead I should make it really obvious I was hiding something, and lure you into coming to our secret party that way. It certainly helped that you completely forgot it was your birthday today.”

“Fucking hell,” he grinned in response. Yuri had been outsmarted again. Though Constance and Hapi were clever, spending their teenage years together in Abyss had given him ample opportunity to figure out all their tricks and schemes. Byleth, however… no matter how much time Yuri spent with the new ruler, Byleth always got the last laugh. And Yuri was always laughing along with him.

“I do have something for you though.” Byleth began rummaging around his pockets again. Yuri’s eyes opened wide when he saw what it was.

-

Standing together in the Goddess Tower, Yuri held out his tattered leather notebook to Byleth. “When I go, I want someone around to write my name in my old notebook. I can't see anyone else more suited to the task than you.”

Byleth fiddled with the ring adorning his finger, the peridot in its center catching the light of the moon. “All this talk of you dying…”

“Who’s the one who has sacrificed himself literally countless times for me, just as much as for the future of Fódlan?” Yuri scoffed. “I don’t understand why you shielded me, that time we went out to accost my underling, nor all the subsequent times you took an arrow or blast of magic or any and every other attack that ever had the misfortune of hurtling my way. Nor will I ever fully understand how much of your energy and sanity you probably sacrificed every time you rewound the hands of time…”

Byleth silenced him with a finger pressed to his lips. “As long as I’m alive, nobody further will die a needless death. From war, poverty, or otherwise.”

Yuri took Byleth’s finger, his palm into his own hands. “Is that a promise? Don’t make promises you can’t keep, my friend.” Friend… more like….

With his other hand Byleth slipped a ring of his own, a silver band encrusted with lavender gemstones, onto Yuri’s finger. “It’s a promise, my love.”

-

“But why all of this? Why now?” Yuri couldn’t stop staring at the notebook in his hands. Embossed into its cover was a mockingbird, with feather patterns intricately stippled into the material, framed by the silhouette of a lily. The back cover featured the Ashen Wolf, leaping over the hangman of the Crest of Aubin. The notebook felt slightly worn, as if already handled with much love beforehand. “…Why me?”

“You haven’t even opened it,” Byleth remarked, leaning over to do so. Their fingers briefly brushed against one another’s, their mismatched rings glinting under the flames of the stage lighting.

It was not a brand new replacement for his other notebook as Yuri initially had expected. In fact it was thoroughly marked up, every page filled with handwriting and inks of different sizes and colors and stories. As Yuri flipped through, hesitantly at first, then with increasing exhilaration, he realized each friend had taken up at least one page of their own to cover with written notes and little drawings.

“Village life is fine, but the stars don’t have quite the same twinkle without you there to draw the invisible lines between them for me, Yuribird,” Hapi scrawled in barely legible violet font.

“Stop by the gloriously restored House Nuvelle sometime; we’ll be sure to have a ball! In fact, it’ll be the greatest ball in all of the (former) Adrestian Empire!” Constance had written in magenta cursive.

Balthus used several pages to depict his understanding of Yuri’s life story via crude cartoon figures: Yuri in Faerghus with his mother, Yuri in Abyss with the Ashen Wolves, Yuri striking down Aelfric with the three lords, Yuri at Byleth’s side, Yuri atop some mystical-looking mountain that he assumed was meant to depict Garreg Mach, Yuri surrounded by the other three Wolves as well as fellow students drawn with much artistic license, all engaged in a huge party not dissimilar to the one they were enacting now.

Even the Abysskeeper had his own page: “We miss you down here. You’re always more than welcome to come hang out with us, got it?” Included was a series of looping scribbles, perhaps artfully executed by the child of him and his old friend’s sister.

Yuri’s hands began to tremble slightly, until Byleth took them in his own. “Byleth… I don’t deserve…”

“Remember when you asked me in the Goddess Tower if there was any room in my world for you?” Byleth gently reminded him. “I want you to remember that, in addition to giving space to those whom you’ve lost, you have friends and family who want to give their space and love to you. Now and always.”

Yuri impulsively pulled Byleth into a tight hug, burying his face into that perfect spot between his shoulder and collarbone, made just for Yuri’s secret tears. “I love you,” he murmured against his skin.

“Happy birthday, Yuri,” Byleth whispered, his breath tickling Yuri’s ear. “I love you too.”

Yuri gently pushed him back, letting his hands rest on his broad shoulders, only to then lean in for a kiss. It was a chaste kiss on the lips, but then he was taken by surprise when Byleth’s arms embraced his thin frame again and brought him in for a deep kiss, their tongues pushing, exploring, lavishing each other’s warmth. Yuri could hear the cheers of his friends around them, and ordinarily he would’ve shied away, or become irritable at the undue attention. But if Byleth could make a life-changing exception for him that night in the Goddess Tower, then perhaps he could stand to make a small exception for Byleth here tonight, on the stage surrounded by loved ones. Under the stars and flames, held so close to his beloved, Yuri was happy to let his heart pound with enough spirit for two.


End file.
